


The Highball Glass

by serenamaes



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Barduil - Freeform, Bartender - Freeform, Drunk Sex, M/M, Model, modernau
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 00:06:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11955570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenamaes/pseuds/serenamaes
Summary: Thranduil visits Bard at the bar after a long day at work, and Bard teaches Bilbo how to make a drink. After testing a few cocktails, Thranduil decides how he should handle his lightweight Bard.





	The Highball Glass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Matsuoasuka](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Matsuoasuka).



The corners of Bard’s lips quirked upward just slightly, and the muscle in his jaw tightened; out of the corner of his eye, he could see Thranduil approaching the bar. His lover’s long hair, a perfect platinum, shone like starlight in the dimly lit room. “Thranduil,” he grinned, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you would make it,” he turned toward the model. “I’m glad you could, though – we’re just about to shut things down.” He sighed, returning his gaze to the glass in his hand. “It’s been a long day.” 

Thranduil’s eyes returned the warmth and his lips twitched into a smirk. “It’s good to see you too, Bard,” he breathed, placing a hand over the bar, examining one of the rings he borrowed from a photoshoot earlier in the day. “I hope that means I won’t be going without a drink. I could use one,” and before the words fell from his lips, the bartender placed a glass before him. “Today.” The elf finished, looking at Bard knowingly. 

“I would never let you go without,” Bard smiled and returned a bottle of floral liqueur back to its rightful spot on the shelf. “You know that.” He winked in his lover’s direction. “Besides, just because we send most of the customers home, doesn’t mean that we don’t let a few lounge around for a little while longer.” He placed a hand on a sleepy friend’s shoulder. “Isn’t that right, Bilbo?” 

“A dragon!” The man startled, clutching a glass of whiskey. “Oh, dear,” he smiled nervously, coming to his senses. “Bard,” he laughed. “What have I told you about doing that?” 

“My apologies.” Bard smiled with his eyes at the smaller man before turning his attention to the other waiters and staff members. They moved around the bar, frantically wiping down tables and picking up dirty dishware. But Bard was not in a hurry this evening; he had already informed Thranduil that they may stay a little later than normal. “Another?” He reached for the liqueur once more. 

“Please,” Thranduil smirked, intrigued that his young counterpart had already memorized the pace of his drinking. “You know me too well.” 

“Will I be able to do that, Bard? Or is that something that is only done for, well,” Bilbo looked over at Thranduil briefly, then whispered behind his hand. “Significant others?” 

“Bilbo,” the bartender never lost his mark, serving another drink as he spoke. “You’ll be a natural, but only if you actually step behind the bar to practice.” Some of the waitresses waved their goodbyes and left. “You haven’t forgotten our deal today, have you?” 

Bilbo fidgeted in his seat. “But I’m not sure if I’m quite ready. I mean,” he hesitated. “I have memorized the list you gave me . . .” 

“Whom will he be serving?” At first, Thranduil thought this was a cute arrangement. His precious Bard would be passing along his trade, no matter how common it may be, to one of his patrons. But the more he thought about it, he was not sure that he was ready for an unbalanced drink. Another day, maybe, but dealing with an unexperienced photographer earlier in the day had exposed his nerves. 

“Don’t worry, Thranduil,” Bard walked to the edge of the bar, opening the swinging door. “I’ll be the victim today.” 

The small man furrowed his eyebrows at the remark, but moved behind the bar, determination coloring his eyes. “Oh! You put a stool back here. Thank you!” 

Bard chuckled and slid next to Thranduil, taking a seat beside him. Carefully, he took the man’s hand in his own. “Is this new?” He noticed the new ring, glittering delicately in the bar lighting. An emerald, square cut and fastened in gleaming silver.

“Yes,” a small, but genuine smile graced the elf’s lips now, happy to feel Bard’s touch for the first time in what felt like days. “Do you like it?” He loved that the younger man took time to notice even the smallest changes, even if it was just his jewelry.

“It’s lovely,” Bard answered, placing a chaste kiss on the jewel. “It would pair beautifully with the necklace,” he moved to place a small kiss on the man’s cheek, while Bilbo was occupied with a list and locating bottles that lie just out of his reach. “Will you model them for me?” He whispered. 

Goosebumps trailed over the model’s skin. “Perhaps,” he grinned, taking another sip of his drink. 

“Alright, Bard,” Bilbo climbed onto the stool, standing at average height. “What will you have?” 

“That’s a good question, Bilbo,” the youth answered, looking over the bottles in the bar, taking a moment to consider the options on the list. 

Thranduil was curious now. Did he even know what his lover preferred to drink? He turned his attention back to Bard, setting his glass down carefully on the bar. He knew the man could handle a glass of wine, and perhaps even a flute of champagne, but he had never seen him drink anything else. Not in this life, least. 

“An old-fashioned.”

“An old-fashioned. Right.” Bilbo blinked, looking around for glasses and alcohol. “Whiskey. Bitters. A cherry. Some kind of citrus . . . A splash of water . . .” The man continued looking around the bar.

“And?” Bard waved as the remaining staff members left. Eager to put an end on the long day. 

“And what?” Bilbo leaned forward. “Did I forget something?” 

“Sugar.”

Thranduil leaned on his hand and watched the expression on Bard’s face as his lover observed. It was quite sexy that he could recall the ingredients – he had assumed most of his talent was, unsurprisingly, in muscle memory. The thought alone made his lips twitch upward. It was easy to get distracted by the mental image of his lover’s toned body, even in this situation. 

After a moment or two, Bilbo felt confident that the drink was ready. “Ta-da! One old-fashioned, as requested.” 

“Thank you,” Bard smiled lifting the drink in the air. “Cheers.” He toasted with Thranduil, and took a sip of the cocktail. For a moment he was silent, and Bilbo pressed his fingers to his lips, anxious for his judgement. 

“Well?” The man finally asked. 

“Not terrible,” Bard swallowed thickly. “Though you made it a bit strong.” 

Thranduil grinned. “A bit strong?” He looked at Bilbo. “Tell me, can you make him a whiskey sour?” 

“That’s much easier than an old-fashioned,” the man laughed. “Coming right up!”

“Bard, finish that drink.” Thranduil smirked, uninterested in his glass for the moment. “You can’t let him off so easily.” 

“And use a tumbler this time,” Bard laughed, downing the rest of his cocktail. It burned on the way down his throat. “I can’t believe you served an old-fashioned in a highball glass.”

“Neither can I,” the Elvenking chuckled, lifting his own drink to his lips. “Though it’s rather refreshing.”

. . . 

“I think you did rather well, Bilbo,” Thranduil mused over a screwdriver, braving the skill of the beginner bartender. Surprisingly, it was almost perfect.

“Thank you,” Bilbo smiled, washing his hands. “You don’t think I made them too strong?” 

“Not at all.” He closed his eyes and took a sip of his drink. “In all honesty, I’d rather a strong drink than none at all.”

Bard looked over at Thranduil through half-lidded eyes, a flush spreading over his cheeks. “Mmmn,” he hummed, raising an eyebrow. “Do I get to take you home tonight?” He ran a hand through the model’s hair. 

“You are so much smoother when you’re sober,” the elf responded, cracking an eye open, looking over at his lover. “But how can I resist?” 

“Well,” Bilbo sighed and stepped down from his stool. “I should be getting home. I don’t want to be late for work in the morning.” He grabbed his shoulder bag and made his way to the door. “Thranduil,” he called, pulling the door open. “I take it you’ll take care of him tonight?” 

“Most definitely,” the model answered, never taking his eyes off of Bard. 

“Take care, Bard!” Bilbo called, closing the door. 

“You, too, Bilbo!” Bard waved, though he nearly fell from the stool. 

“Goodness,” Thranduil stood to steady his lover, helping him down from the chair. “What am I going to do with you?” He would never tell Bard how adorable it was, that no matter which life they were in, he still was unable to handle his alcohol. “Just a few drinks, and you can hardly stand.” 

“I’m fine,” Bard reassured, standing straight to look his lover in the eye. Firmly, he spoke. “I can do more than just stand.” 

“Prove it.” Thranduil challenged. 

“I’m going to rock your world,” Bard whispered, diving in for a kiss. Though Thranduil didn’t doubt it, he thought it may be the other way around, especially tonight. 

Their bodies pushed against each other, the silence of the bar filled with the heavy rush of their heartbeats. Bard tangled his fingers into Thranduil’s hair, and the taller man slid his tongue into his lover’s mouth, savoring the burning sweet sensation of whiskey and sugar. 

“Bard,” Thranduil breathed against his lover’s lips. 

“Yeah?” 

“Has everyone left for the evening?” 

“I think so,” he looked around for a moment, hesitant to let go of the steady warmth in front of him. “I haven’t heard anyone since Bilbo left.” 

“Good.” The king captured his lover’s lips once more, pulling them together hard at the waist. Bard gasped into the kiss but returned it just as suddenly. 

The younger man moaned as he was pressed up against the bar, his breath catching in his chest. He groaned at the friction building between them, and he chuckled into the kiss. “But I thought-”

“You thought wrong,” Thranduil smirked, diving toward the man’s neck. He needed more skin than just what was peeking out beneath the man’s collar. His fingers worked deftly at the buttons of that dark uniform, exposing his lover’s chest to the cool air. 

“Ahn,” Bard gasped, looking down at his chest. The color darkened on his cheeks, and he looked into Thranduil’s eyes. “Not here.” 

“I can’t wait until we get home, Bard,” the model was firm, working at his belt already.

“I just cleaned the bar.” 

“We can clean it again in a moment.” He ran his hands over that chest, and grinned in satisfaction as his lover arched into his teasing touches. 

“No,” Bard laughed, clumsily catching his lover’s wrists. “Come with me.” 

Now the model was intrigued. “Where are we going?” 

Bard slid out between his lover’s hips and the hard wooden bar, and pulled him toward the store room. “Follow me.” 

“Bard,” Thranduil sighed. “I hardly think that this-”But he couldn’t object. Bard pushed him against the shelves, and pressed their mouths together again. The model groaned at the sudden shift, and fought to regain dominance. He tugged at Bard’s hair and his shirt, undressing him to the waist, tossing the black piece of fabric to the floor. Bard had made the mistake of moving his hands, working at Thranduil’s buttons and belt, when the taller man overpowered him, pushing him against a low stock table onto his back. A few bottles of wine rolled to the floor. 

“Damn,” Bard breathed as Thranduil kissed down his chest, looking toward the floor. “Those were a good year.” 

“I’ll replace them,” his other half answered at his navel. 

“You’d better,” Bard relaxed, arching his back as he felt his jeans being pulled from his legs, watching as his lover eagerly worked to undress him.

Thranduil bit his way down Bard’s thigh, pleased at how willingly his lover was submitting. “I’ll pay for it all – you’re what’s important right now.” 

“I think you missed me.” Bard purred, and lifted himself up with his stomach, pulling Thranduil in by the collar of his unbuttoned shirt for another deep kiss. 

“You’ve no idea,” the King exhaled against his lover’s lips, licking his way back inside them for another taste of that perfect mouth. He allowed Bard to remove the shirt from his body, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to undress fully. The bar would only be closed for a few more minutes, and then the cleaners would come to fully sanitize the place. Carefully, he eased Bard back toward the table, and broke away from the kiss. 

Bard looked into his eyes and understood. “Hmmn,” He closed his eyes, “So you’re going to rock my world, instead?” 

A chuckle left the King’s parted lips as he surveyed his lover’s body. “Exactly,” he unzipped his slacks, and freed his hard organ from its prison. It was crude, but it would suffice for tonight. Thranduil quietly spat into his hand, and lubricated himself before bending Bard’s legs. “Bard . . .” he warned. 

Bard looked up at the man above him through half-lidded eyes. “Please,” he teased rolling his head to the side. “The table’s cold.” 

The king closed his eyes and tried not to laugh. “You’re too much,” he grinned, easing himself inside of that tight body, pushing forward until their bodies connected fully at the hips. Bard gripped at the edge of the table and exhaled shakily once the man was fully sheathed inside, and Thranduil braved another glance at the man beneath him. 

After following a few movements of Bard’s bare chest, that steady inhale and exhale, Thranduil felt it was appropriate to move, and he rolled his hips back before plunging forward once more, starting a steady rhythm. Bard tilted his head back and groaned at the friction between his legs. His thighs shook, and his lover took a careful hold of them, supporting his body as he moved. 

The table creaked, and stifled the grunts and groans echoing between the two men, amplifying as the rhythm and tempo increased. 

“Thranduil,” Bard panted, lifting his head enough to observe the movement. “God,” he closed his eyes once more, his hair falling over his shoulder. “I can’t . . .”

Thranduil understood. The man’s muscles were tightening incredulously around him as he moved, and he could tell his own release was soon to follow. “Bard,” he moaned, hoping that he could last for his lover’s climax. 

But as the though crossed his mind, Bard reclined against the table, the muscles in his stomach tightening as he called out his lover’s name. And it was too late for the King – he clawed his way down those sun-kissed thighs as he came, slowly easing his lover’s legs back to the table. 

. . .

Bard pulled on his shirt and looked toward the broken glass on the floor. “Are you sure we shouldn’t clean that up?” He asked quietly, looking toward Thranduil. 

The model combed his hair back, out of his face with his fingers. “The cleaners will be here soon, won’t they?” he buttoned his shirt and moved toward the door. 

“Yes, but the table looks a bit suspicious, don’t you think?” Bard followed, moving toward the bar. 

“I’ll send some sort of gift to the manager,” Thranduil waved his hand, moving toward the door. “It’s getting late, and we need to rest.” 

“Will you let me sleep this time?” Bard grinned, opening the door for his lover. 

“Perhaps,” Thranduil laughed. “Though I was hoping that you might keep me up a bit later.” He stepped outside. 

The flush returned to Bard’s cheeks, and he raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?” 

Thranduil flashed a dramatic glance at his lover over his shoulder, a smile gracing his lips. “You are sober now, aren’t you?” 

The muscle in Bard’s jaw tightened, and he stepped closer to his lover. “Let’s get you to bed.”


End file.
